It was just before Thanksgiving. Wearinga heavy brown flannel robe, I sat up against the headboard asMartha Jane settled near me on the bed and sat In...ian-stlye. Inher hand she had a bottle of green cough syrup, a bottle of codliver oil, and a bottle of ear drops. "Okay, hon, time for dessert." "That's not dessert," I complained. "This is dessert for sick folks." She shimmied her hips intothe mattress to get comfy. "Now, let's see, what does thissay...?" She examined the label on the cough. The strapless band of fabric was apparently designed to be held up, at least in part, by the dancer's breasts. The unfortunate young lady in the front rank of dancers, however, apparently didn't have enough to hold it up, especially when the dance required her to raise her arms. What she did have, my buddy and I found out for a fact, was lovely, small, brown nipples. When I raised my eyes to her face, it was red, and she was looking straight at me.Embarrassed for her, and at myself for having. More

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